


Homage

by Cleo_Calliope



Series: Where My Homage is Due [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha Lestrade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Case Fic, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Romantic Romance (Kind of), Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Other, Pack Dynamics, The Author Needs Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8099071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo_Calliope/pseuds/Cleo_Calliope
Summary: It's been four years since Sherlock became the most recalcitrant member of Greg's pack.  And less than twelve hours since John learned of his bizarre flatmate's permutation.  Steps need to be taken to protect Sherlock's health from his own stubbornness even as a new case threatens his life.  The difference is that now he has a pack that will fight for him, even if he doesn't want them to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, folks - here it is FINALLY. The first chapter of the third instalment of my Homage series.
> 
> First of all, I have a need. My wonderful beta reader, cheerleader and brainstorming partner has taken a new job that doesn't allow her the time to help me any more. So, I need someone willing not only to beta read for me, but someone I can bounce ideas off of. Help? Please?
> 
> This story picks up more or less where 'Permutation' leaves off. However, it will be more like 'Pack' in nature. How long will it be? I have litterally NO idea. After originally planning for 'Pack' to be 4 chapters and ending up 22 plus an epilogue... Yeah, I'm not even going to try and guess. *g*
> 
> Also, I'm rating this as 'Mature' at the moment due to the case. However, I give due warning that the rating _may_ ramp up to 'Explicit' due to the personal side of things. I'm honestly not sure yet. If it does, however, I will give due warning.

_Must meet with you. Pack Business.  
John W_

 

Greg had been Sherlock’s alpha for more than four years now and there were times when he still wasn’t sure what to do with with him. Never mind the fact that this situation had been entirely novel from the start.

Nearly a year before Sherlock had been kicked out of yet another of the string of flats he’d had, this time for nearly setting the place on fire with his experiments. Some time the previous year, however, he’d spent three weeks in Florida insuring the execution of a particularly violent rapist and murderer. Grateful beyond words to be rid of the man his widow, a sweet elderly beta, was willing to give Sherlock a substantial break on the flat she had to rent. The only problem was that even with the discount it was too much for him to afford on his own.

Greg had been aware of all this and had been prepared for yet another failed attempt on Sherlock’s part to share living space with another human being. Still, the case he’d been in the middle of at the time had been taking up all of his attention and so when he’d gone to the Baker Street flat to collect Sherlock he’d barely noticed the other alpha there. He’d actually assumed he was Mrs. Hudson’s alpha come to look over her new lodger and made a mental note that he’d have to talk to the man at some point about the fact that Sherlock’s new flat would technically be shared territory.

He certainly hadn’t expected Sherlock to show up at the crime scene with the same alpha limping along in tow. 

“Who’s he?”

“He’s with me.”

“Yes, but who is he?”

“He’s. With. Me.”

There were times when it was clear Sherlock wasn’t going to be of any help and this hadn’t been a case where the ensuing fight would be worth it. So, Greg had simply made sure to get the man’s name and done a full background check as soon as he got back to the yard.

Dr. John Hamish Watson MD, recently discharged from the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers after being wounded in action in Afghanistan. His record was that of an honourable soldier and before that as a extremely competent physician. Now back it London, he was at a bit of a loose end. Still, Greg found himself wondering what the hell the man was doing even contemplating a flatshare with Sherlock since nothing in his background suggested any form of insanity. Unless you counted voluntarily going to war, of course. Nonetheless, he saw nothing then nor when he’d invited John out for a pint to get to know him that made him concerned for Sherlock’s safety while under the same roof with him. That having been Greg’s only real concern in the matter he’d left it alone after that, certain it would fail in its own time without his help.

Besides, Greg had never been the kind of pack alpha who actively interfered in the lives of those who chose to acknowledge him. For one thing he didn’t have the time, patience, interest or temperament for the micro-managing that so many alphas dominant enough to hold a pack seemed to revel in. It was one of the many reasons he’d resisted a taking a serious leadership position for as long as he had. But then, those were the very reasons he was the alpha for the few people under his protection. None of them wanted a controlling alpha dictating their lives while at the same time wanting the security of a pack. Greg’s hands-off approach suited them.

With Sherlock that bond was stretched even farther. 

Greg still wasn’t sure what exactly it said about him that he was willing to have an omega in his pack who went out of his way to pretend that Greg was not his alpha, much less that such an omega would be his in the more permanent and deeper sense that came with an intrinsic bond.

Any other alpha would probably have taken exception to an omega under their protection taking rooms with an alpha who was neither pack nor a bondmate. However, it was obvious from the start that Sherlock had no intention for John to ever discover what his permutation actually was.

The only help Sherlock had ever been willing to accept from his aloof and frankly terrifying older brother was access to the best pheromones inhibitors on the market. With those at his disposal, which he had for free as long as he kept himself sober, Sherlock no longer had to worry about his natural scent betraying him. Now, when not wearing the false scents he used to manipulate people, he smelled like nothing at all. It had been unnerving at first but Greg had long since got used to it.

Still, John wasn’t stupid. At first, Greg hadn’t thought he’d be around long enough to start putting the clues together. Sherlock had attempted to supplement his meagre income by having flatmates in the past. To say none of them had worked out would be a spectacular understatement.

John, on the other hand, was another matter all together. Within a month John had become as recognisable to Greg’s team as Sherlock himself was. Seven months later, it was nearly impossible to contemplate Sherlock showing up anywhere without his shadow in tow. John Watson had become as much a part of Sherlock’s beloved work as the crimes themselves.

While Sherlock had seemed to believe he could keep the secret of his permutation indefinitely, Greg had known John would figure it out eventually.

So, the text hadn’t been a surprise as such. It had come out of the blue, certainly, but at the same time Greg had been anticipating something of the kind for months.

As he watched John enter the pub he wondered, not of the first time, if he should have come forward with who he was to Sherlock from the start.

Greg nodded companionably to the other alpha as he headed toward him. John Watson wasn’t what you thought of when someone said alpha. He was decidedly short for his permutation, with dirty blond hair and a weathered face. He did nothing to try and seem more like an alpha, dressing in comfortable jumpers and loose fitting jeans. If one hadn’t seen him in action, didn’t know how well he could fight or just how deadly his accuracy with a gun was, he could be dismissed as weak. The fact that he was a loner, instead of having a pack, only added to the illusion. And it was an illusion. Greg was an unusually dominant alpha, though it had taken him a long time to become comfortable with that fact. If it came to it, Greg wasn’t entirely sure he could dominate John and was sincerely glad that the question of who was more dominant had never come up. The memory of what it had taken to force another dominant alpha to his knees was one that still haunted him. It had been a gruelling test of self he hoped never to have to go through again.

He and John had sized each other up when they first met and Greg had been pleased to note that John wasn’t the kind to want to push it. Some alphas would, would be unable not to establish who was dominant to whom. John had yielded to Greg his right to control his crime scenes and clearly had been uninterested in testing it any farther so long as Greg was willing to grant him the same courtesy in regards to his flat.

The other alpha’s easy-going attitude was one of the things that had allowed them to become friends over the last few months.

He motioned to Greg’s beer with a questioning look. At Greg’s nod he made it way to the bar, returning soon with two beers.

“Sherlock owes me a tenner,” Greg said conversationally as John settled across from him.

“Oh?” he asked.

“I said you’d figure it all out on your own,” Greg said. “He thought he could keep you in the dark indefinitely.”

“It took me a while, though, didn’t it?” There was a rueful tone to John’s voice.

Greg shrugged. “My team has been working along side him for years. Not a single one of them knows. I don’t think any of them even guess. Besides, I didn’t figure it out on my own either. I had to be told.”

“Sherlock told you?” John asked, clearly surprised.

“Hell no,” Greg laughed. “Jane Bradstreet figured it out and she told me.”

John chuckled and shook his head, before taking a pull of his beer.

They drank in companionable silence for a moments before Greg spoke again.

“To be honest,” he admitted. “It’s a relief to have this all out in the open. I haven’t much liked keeping you in the dark about it, mate.”

“Then why not tell me?” There was no challenge to the question, just honest curiosity.

Greg shrugged. “This is Sherlock we’re talking about.” As far as he was concerned it was explanation enough. After a moment John grinned shaking his own head.

“Yeah, I see your point,” he said. “What possessed you to take him on in the first place and how in the hell do you put up with him? Any other alpha would have kicked him to the curb ages ago.”

Greg took a moment to finish his first pint before answering. He was comfortable now with his relationship with Sherlock but while it was one thing to admit to being his alpha it was another to discuss the details of their bond. It was rare in its intensity and not something he discussed easily or often. Pack bonds like theirs were rare the modern world and the subject of a great deal of curiosity.

“I don’t really have a choice,” Greg said finally. “The bond is intrinsic.”

As expected John’s brows rose in surprise. “Are you serious? No, strike that, of course you are.” He shook his head. “That’s… different.” He considered it for a moment. “You know, on second thought I’m not as surprised as I think I should be.”

“I don’t know why not,” Greg told him with amusement. “It shocked the hell out of me.”

John laughed.

Greg leaned back in his seat, more relaxed now that he was sure John wasn’t going to start asking questions he didn’t have answers to. Like why the bond was there. Then again, as a doctor he was likely aware that there was no answer to that. While the subject ongoing scientific study, intrinsic bonds were still largely a mystery.

“So, what’s this pack business you need to discuss? Or was it just to demand to know why I hadn’t told you?”

John’s humour vanished.

“I wish that’s all it was,” he said. “We met Moriarty last night.”

Greg sucked in a breath, sitting up straight again. “The fifth pip?” he asked.

Five pips had played on the message left on the pink phone. The first four had each lead to a hostage and a puzzle Sherlock had to solve in a given amount of time to save the hostage’s life. It had been a whirlwind of non-stop activity for two days and then it had all just… stopped. The silence of the last 24 hours had, in all honesty, been somewhat unnerving.

“Yeah,” John said. He looked exhausted.

“The hostage?” Greg asked. There had been one in all of the other cases, it was the only way the lunatic had to ensure Sherlock would play the game.

“Was me.”

Greg felt himself pale. “Jesus Christ, mate. Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” John admitted. “But I’m not hurt.”

He explained about his abduction and Sherlock’s setting up the secret meeting with Moriarty at the pool where Carl Powers had died all those years ago. Greg felt his fists clench even as his stomach dropped.

He knew why Sherlock hadn’t contacted him, why he’d gone alone to meet with the man even before he knew that the psycho had taken John hostage. It wasn’t the first time that Sherlock had done something utterly reckless, throwing his own safety out the window in pursuit of some suspect or other. Usually though he at least sent Greg a message. He might be running to catch up but at the very least he could be there to see for himself that his herlot, or pack member, was safe in the aftermath.

This time there had been nothing. Sherlock had nearly died the night before and hadn’t even been planning on telling Greg about the incident apparently.

“The man just stopped a show down like that because of a phone call?” he demanded when John was finished. The question came out harsher than the other alpha deserved but John didn’t seem to take it personally. 

“Yep. I have no idea who. All we know is that they apparently told him that they had something. He said that he’d make whoever it was rich if they had what they said they had and make them into shoes if they didn’t. And you know, I think he was entirely serious about both.”

“Shit,” Greg muttered before taking a long drink of his beer. 

“There’s something more,” John said quietly. There was something about his tone that stopped Greg’s whirling thoughts cold.

“Okay,” he said, knowing he wasn’t going to like this.

John took a deep breath before going on. “Remember how all the games were meant to entice Sherlock, get him to come out and play? How each was _exactly_ the kind of puzzle he most enjoyed?”

“Not likely to forget.”

Greg had been able to tell that John had been deeply troubled by how much Sherlock had revelled in the puzzles placed before him. Greg hadn’t been thrilled with it himself but that was because he was afraid of how far Sherlock might be drawn into Moriarty’s web, whoever or what ever he was. That Sherlock loved the puzzles themselves, though… Well, he wouldn’t have expected anything else.

It wasn’t that Sherlock didn’t care about people, no matter how much he pretended he didn’t. Greg would never forget how utterly broken he’d been, standing over the body of a girl he’d known while her mate screamed at him that her death was his fault. He would also never forget the weeks of worry that followed, of finding him nearly dead by his own hand in a filthy alley. No, it certainly wasn’t that Sherlock didn’t care but that he cared too much. In the years since Greg had met him he’d come to understand that the only way Sherlock could function during a case was to pack all of it away and feel nothing. True, it was sometimes scary how easy it seemed to be for him to turn off that empathy, crawl into his own intellect and allow the euphoria of his deductions sweep anything and everything else away. Still, it was better than the alternative.

Greg wasn’t sure John really understood that yet. Then again, John may have lived with Sherlock for months but he hadn’t seen him at his worst, strung out and honestly not caring if he lived or died. Sherlock was who and what he was, Greg had long ago come to realise that he could accept that or not but there wasn’t any changing it, and there was little point in getting upset when he didn’t react to things as another person would.

“I remember thinking at the time that it was a kind of intellectual seduction,” John continued.

“I was worried about that part of it,” Greg admitted. “Moriarty clearly had his number and was going to do whatever it took to pull Sherlock along. I didn’t like thinking of where that line was going to lead.”

“It worried me, too,” John agreed. “It turns out that it was a bit more of a literal seduction than either of us could have imagined, thought.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Greg stiffened, every alpha instinct he had going on full alert. Before John could answer though a thought struck him. “What’s his permutation?”

John nodded. “Alpha, mostly anyway.”

For a moment, Greg didn’t even hear the qualifier. An unmated omega was always at risk of being raped or even forced into an unwanted bonding. Part of Greg’s job as Sherlock’s pack leader was to stand as his protection against predatory alphas, to stand between him and them. The idea that there was an alpha _this_ sodding dangerous _this_ obsessed with an omega under his protection made his skin crawl and he swore viciously under his breath.

And — that God damn, fucking _arogent_ , sod — Sherlock had walked right into the man’s trap, probably knowing full well that the man was an alpha at that. Strike that, _certainly_ knowing full well that the man was an alpha and almost certainly what exactly he’d wanted from Sherlock.

Then the second part of what John had said penetrated.

“Mostly?” he asked. He’d only ever met one other person with a permutation ambiguity and that hadn’t been pleasant.

“Some kind of permutation ambiguity. He smelled… off,” John said. “I think that it might be as simple as putting out some of the wrong hormones but there was definitely some beta in his scent. He’s still an alpha though. I looked it up this morning and because of the rest he has to be a fully functioning alpha.”

“And the rest is?” Greg was finding it difficult not to become confrontational and he had to remind himself that John wasn’t the threat to Sherlock. Every instinct he had was screaming that he had to protect but there was nothing and no one here to fight.

John took a deep breath.

“The bonding lure,” John told him. “As soon as Sherlock got there the place stank of it.”

Greg went very still, his mind clearing with the preternatural calm of absolute fury. It took a few moments of breathing deeply before he was sure he wasn’t going to transition from that to a feral state. While he struggled with that John sat across from him, absolutely still with his eyes fixed on his glass.

“Give me a moment,” Greg said at last.

John nodded and slipped out of the booth, still not meeting his eyes. The small part of Greg that could still think was grateful for John’s steady nature and presence of mind. Many would react with fear when an alpha approached a feral state which only exacerbated the problem. John, however, remained calm and did what he could to make sure nothing in Greg saw him as a threat.

It was another few minutes before he felt himself enough to look around. There had been a couple seated a table not far away, they were gone now. No doubt they’d smelled the pheromones Greg had begun to put out and had wisely absented themselves. A feral alpha was a dangerous thing. The only thing more dangerous was a feral omega protecting their pups.

John was standing not too far away, sipping at a new beer while he waited, a pint clearly meant for Greg in the other hand.

“Okay,” Greg said at last, nodding to the other alpha that it was safe to rejoin him. He took another deep breath. “Okay. Sorry about that, mate,” he told him while John slid in across from him.

John pushed the new pint across at Greg.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” John said. “I should have realised that might happen and done this in private.”

Greg shook his head and drank down what was left of his second beer in one long swallow before reaching for his third, deciding that getting drunk sounded like a marvellous idea.

“No, you just knew I was his alpha not the nature of the bond. You couldn’t know how… viscerally this would effect me.” Suddenly he let out a small laugh. “Hell, _I_ didn’t know how viscerally this would effect me.”

John grinned and relaxed again.

“Okay,” Greg said again, after taking another deep breath and beginning his third pint. “What the hell does this mean? You said he was threatening to kill both of you.”

John just shrugged. “No idea beyond the fact that he’s a sick fuck who seems to get off on that kind of thing.”

“What does Sherlock think?”

“That we’ll be seeing him again.”

And until they did, Greg realised, there was nothing that any of them could do. This round had been played out and God alone knew who had won.

Greg looked down at his beer.

“Want to get plastered?” he asked.

“Oh _God_ yes.”


End file.
